Truth Be Told
by Tzigane-Akiko
Summary: What's this that Danny has acciedentially swallowed? Oh no! DannySam, TuckerValerie, cowritten with Rocket2014!
1. Joyful Reading of the PDA

**A/N:**_ This story is being cowritten with Rocket2014. Sweeeeeet. By the way, most of this chapter is a flashback, but I deem it important so thou must read. Anyway, on with the disclaimer!_

**DISCLAIMER:**

_Box Ghost: I am the Box Ghost! BEWARE!_

_Ghost Gabber: I am the Box Ghost. Beware. Fear me._

_Box Ghost: NO, I shall not fear you and your non-squareness! BEWARE!!!_

_Ghost Gabber: No. I shall not fear you and your non-squarness. Beware. Fear me._

_Box Ghost: I SHALL NOT! BEEEEEEW------_

_Danny: (interrupts) Uh, dude, that's the Ghost Gabber. Its only function is to repeat whatever a ghost says and add "Fear me" at the end. It's not gonna be threatened by your bubble wrap._

_Box Ghost: (hides bubble wrap ineffectively behind back) What bubble wrap of dooooom?_

_Ghost Gabber: What bubble wrap of doom? Fear me._

_Danny: (gets bored of Box Ghost threateneing the Ghost Gabber and sucks him into the Fenton Thermos) Moving on . . . Butch Hartman owns me, not Xia or Rocket2014. On with the fanfic._

_Ghost Gabber: On with the fanfic. Fear me._

_Danny: (to Ghost Gabber) YOU KNOW WHAT?! I"M GONNA RIP YOU TO SHREDS AND FEED YOU TO WULF IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP!_

_Wulf: (protests in his garbled language)_

_Ghost Gabber: (attempts to repeat garbled language and failes) . . . . fear me . . ._

_Danny: AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!_

Yeah . . . what they said.

**_TUCKER'S POV:_**

"_Danny!_ Catch!"

My white-haired halfa friend caught the Fenton Thermos my other friend Sam threw at him. Grinning victoriously, Danny Phantom's bright green eyes glinted with triumph as he sucked Desiree (the wish-granting ghost psychopath) into said Thermos. Floating back down from his 'lofty' position in midair, Danny rejoined the two of us on the ground and transformed.

Maybe I should just let you read what's on my PDA so you're all caught up?

_Booting up . . . . loading . . . . on._

_Search 'Phantom' . . . . searching . . . . found._

_Loading . . . . loading . . . . loaded._

_Last year, Danny's parent's Maddie and Jack Fenton built a portal to the Ghost Zone (see file titled Fenton Archives). It's the realm where ghosts live, hence the name. But, even when they plugged it in, the Fenton Portal didn't work. Until Danny's curiousity got the better of all three of us._

_He showed us the portal, and the protective jumpsuits as well. Hazmat . . . ugh. Sam took a few pictures of him holding the suit, and of the portal. Lowering the camera, she had asked "Does it work?"_

_"No." Danny had replied. "Even though it's plugged in."_

_"Here's an idea . . . wanna go inside?"_

_"I dunno Sam . . . it doesn't sound like such a great idea."_

_"Danny, I'm the techno-geek." I'd intervened. "Trust me, this portal ain't gonna work. It's dead on the circuit. It's completely safe, honest." How very wrong I was . . ._

_"C'mon Danny . . . just a look. Please?" Sam turned her puppy-dog pout on Danny. Even though it's not really that cute, it works on him every time. I swear, he's got a heavy crush on that girl (see folder titled DannySam Relationship Progress) . She on him, too, but both are just way to stubborn to admit it._

_"Fine." Danny sighed, donning the suit. Before he went into the portal, Sam stopped him. Quickly, she removed the picture of his dad's face (see document titled Jack's Obsession) and replaced it with a cool insignia: a P inside a streaking D._

_Danny gave her a quizzical look before walking forwards into the portal. Nothing happened, just as I had assured him. Relaxing, he turned around to face us._

_The best word to describe Danny is probably . . . klutz. He trips over absolutely everything, and nowadays he's lost a couple fights thanks to his clumsiness. Honestly, he can't go a day without falling over his own feet a minimum of ten times. It's really kinda pathetic sometimes, especially when he's trying to talk to Paulina. Not so much when talking to Sam._

_Anyway . . . when he turned, he unsurprisingly tripped over a wire. And started to fall. And his hand shot out to try to support himself on the wall. And said hand landed on a button._

_Which turned on the portal._

_With Danny still inside._

_His scream was of the gut-wrenching, appears-in-your-worst-nightmare type. Apparently, it delivered a severe electrocution and mass amounts of ectoplasm (the stuff ghosts are made of; see file titled Ghost Archives). Later, he described it as if he was dying. Losing consciousness, he fell to the floor after managing to stumble out of the portal._

_Before the accident, Danny looked like your typical high-school-lowlife. He wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt with red trimmings and a red oval in the center, and for shoes he had white-and-red sneakers. Ebony-black, messy hair refused to behave and stuck up over his blue eyes. Skinny, small-ish . . . again, typical high-school-lowlife._

_But after the accident . . . he came out looking completely different. His hair had changed to snow-white, and his eyes to a bright glowing-green. The colors of the hazmat suit had reversed to be mostly black, but with silver 'acessories'. The collar was silver, his belt was silver, his boots were silver, his boots were silver and the insignia was silver. Before he'd turned on the portal, the silver parts had been black and the black had been white. The silver-black was a much better combination, in my own opinion._

_Shortly afterwards, Danny gained these ghostly powers; things like disappearing, flying, intangibility, ectoplasmic energy blasts shot from his hands and or eyes, et cetera. Later on, he gained something called the Ghostly Wail (a sonic screaming that completely destroys _everything_ in it's path) and even a little teleportation (he can't go very far; only a couple feet). When we realized that the now-functional portal was releasing malevolent (that means evil) ghosts into our world, we found a use for these powers. Danny's now the protector of Amity Park, and Sam 'n me are his partners._

_Thus, Danny Phantom was 'born'._

_Closing . . . . closing . . . closed._

_Shutting down . . . . loading . . . . off._

My PDA blinked out of life, and I turned back to Danny and Sam. We'd been fighting in a division of Axion Labs, and of course they had to search around. Sometimes, I wish I could damn their curiousity.

"Hey Tuck, look at this!" Danny peered over the edge of a particular cardboard box, gesturing wildly for me to come over. Shrugging, I walked over

"What is it?"

"Truth potion." He shuddered. "Cool, but I don't want to touch the stuff."

"That would prove disasterous, wouldn't it?" I smiled.

"Ya think?" He gave me a dry look, and we both cracked up. We're best buds like that.

"Hey you 'manly-men'! Get over here and help me with this!" Sam called from across the room. She was struggling to open a crate.

"Do I detect a sense of sarcasm in that sentence?" Danny retorted, unmoving.

"**Two** sentences." I corrected with a grin.

"You smartasses . . . get over here already before I come make you!"

Not wanting to see Sam's wrath (last time, she dressed Danny up as a girl . . . both Fenton _and_ Phantom), we both rushed over like our lives depended on it. Knowing Sam, they probably did . . .

Danny's ghost-sense went off just seconds before we popped the lid open. Of all the ghosts to pop out, it had to be . . . .

. . . the Box Ghost.

Now, the Box Ghost has to be the _lamest_ ghost Phantom's ever faced. Albeit the funniest, but still the lamest. He doesn't stop pronouncing his 'unending power over all things cardboard and square', and at all the worst times as well. Danny has to suck him into the Thermos daily, but he still manages to get back out and come back again and again. It was annoying at first, but we barely notice anymore. All Danny does nowadays is aim and press the capture button on the Thermos. Point black, job done.

"Beware! It is I, the Box Ghost!" said ghost announced, Danny lip-synching along perfectly. We'd all memorized this speech by heart. "Commander of all things cardboard and square! BEWARE!"

With that, he raised his arms and lifted a couple boxes into the air. Sending them flying at Danny, of course.

Danny just pointed his finger at the boxes, a bored look on his face. He'd gotten to the point where he could just point a finger and a scaled-down version of his ectoplasmic energy blasts would fire away. Said miniature attack hit the boxes and sent them off-course, thudding into the ground at a safe distance from sam and myself. However, he missed one, and it crashed down onto his head.

Green liquid poured down his face from the broken test-tubes inside. Some seeped into his mouth, and he licked it apprehensively. Of all the idiotic things to do, huh.

Grinning, he told the Box Ghost that "Hey! This tastes pretty good! Maybe Axion is trying to outmatch Hershey's or something . . ."

"You do not fear my cardboard dooooom?!" The Box Ghost ranted dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at Danny. "How about some bubble wra---"

Danny silenced the nuiscance by a bored aim-and-press. The wailing ghost was sucked into the Thermos, to enjoy Desiree's company.

"What was in that box?" Sam blinked.

"Don't remember." I shrugged. "Maybe Axion really _is_ going into the candy buisness."

The two shared a look, then cracked up. Crossing my arms, I feigned a pout.

"Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?"

That only made them laugh harder, dammit . . .


	2. How I Woke Up This Morning

**A/N:** _Wow, 4 reviews (those made us laugh, by the way) for one chapter! Cool. Anyway, Rocket2014 and I are completely winging it on this story, so we'd absolutely go into hysterics if you guys give us ideas. Plus, it'll mean faster updates . . . hint hint XD. However, as you are not here to just hear me babble on, here's your fic! And yes, now we enter Danny's POV. This'll be fun . . ._

**_DANNY'S POV:_**

_Beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep bee**WHAM**_

I groaned, lowering my arm from where I'd blasted the annoying alarm-clock-of-doom into oblivion. Rolling over to go back to sleep, my only thought was that _with my luck, there's gonna be an Alarm Clock Ghost somewhere that's very offended with how I treat my alarm clocks . . . I wouldn't mind fighting him._

Waitaminnut . . . .

Alarm clock of doom . . . . that sounds awful familiar . . . .

Aw, DAMMIT! I sound like the Box Ghost!

_That_ thought woke me up, and just in time. Jazz pounded on my space-decorated door before opening it anyway.

"Danny! Time to get up and go to . . ." she trailed off, staring at me. " . . . you're awake?"

"Uh, yeah?" Isn't it obvious? You'd be awake too if _you_ sounded like the _Box Ghost_.

"Why didn't I have to wake you up again? You always need me to force you awake . . ."

"I blasted my alarm clock and thought I sounded like the Box Ghost."

" . . . you _really_ need to go see a shrink if you're thinking that." Jazz raised an eyebrow. She's my sister, but we don't really look very much alike. I've (thankfully) got Mom's body and Dad's black hair. Jazz, or really Jasmine, has long bright red hair to her hips, and also the same body as Mom. She's always wearing a teal-ish quarter-sleeve shirt thingy, and black capris with wierd little black slide-y shoe things. Yeah.

Oh, and she wants to be a psychologist.

And, of course, with me being a teenager plus scrawny plus easily bullied_ plus_ under the 'stress' of being a ghost-hunting hero who everyone thinks is a villain . . . I get to be her test subject.

Joy.

Honestly, she analizes almost everything I do. For example: just this morning, she said I needed to see a shrink because I thought I sounded like the Box Ghost, remember that? Isn't that an analization? She probably thinks I have some really wierd mental problem with a really really long hard-to-remember name just because I woke up without her help.

"Yeah, yeah." I grumbled. "I'm taking a shower."

Jazz nodded and left as I hunted for a towel. She, Sam and Tucker are the only three full humans who know my secret about being Phantom. Why do I say three _full_ humans?

. . . . . . . . ya know, I'm too tired to be discussing this with you. I'm gonna tell you later . . . when I'm not brain-dead.

After my shower, I got dressed (uh, duh), did the whole brush-your-teeth-and-hair routine, then went downstairs. Mom and Dad were sitting at the table in the kitchen; Mom working on some new invention, and Dad eating . . . fudge.

"Hi honey." Mom looked up breifly, then back to her invention. I did the smart thing and hovered near the doorway as I munched on some toast Jazz handed me. Her inventions always pointed to me, and almost always _hurt_ when they point at me. They're made that way.

Maddie Fenton isn't very tall, like me. She's got short red hair, in a sorta chin-length pixie cut. Not that I'm trying to be mean or anything, but her hips are pretty big compared to the rest of her body. Otherwise, she looks pretty normal . . . if you subtract the bright blue hazmat suit and the fact that she's often toting a formidible-looking gun. Which, just so you know, is almost always pointed at Phantom. Fun, eh? It kinda suck though, because she's got really good aim . . .

And then there's Dad. _He_ sticks out like a sore thumb no matter _where_ he is. Jack Fenton is a giant . . . literally. He's waaaaay tall: somewhere around 6 foot 5, I think. And no one knows if he's muscular or fat . . . his sides are vertical and in general his whole body is huge. In contrast, his legs and feet are tiny. I often wonder how he manages to stay standing . . . anyway, I'm pretty sure Dad's getting old. His hair is black, but only on the top of his head (which is shaped a lot like a giant rectangle). All the rest of his hair is white. While Mom is a little more nonconspicuous, Dad . . . scares people. He runs around in bright orange hazmat, just like Mom except without the gun. Add this to his sheer size . . .

We never trust him with anything. Especially a gun.

"Hi Mom . . . whatcha workin' on now?" I asked, a little hesitantly.

"It's called the Fenton Tazer!" Dad announced. He has a scary obsession with naming everything in our house after us. Fenton RV, Fenton Ghost Gabber, Fenton Fisher . . . even the tv. Fenton TV. He also has another obsession: putting his face on everything we own as well. There's a picture everywhere . . . including the food.

Which no person in their right mind would even look at, anyway, so I guess we're safe there.

"W-what's it do?" I stammered. Don't the police use tazers to---

"It stuns ghosts!" Dad exclaimed loudly.

"Oh . . ." Mental note: avoid anything that looks vaguely like a tazer for the rest of my life. Addition to mental note: borrow tazer to wrack revenge upon the Box Ghost for annoying me enough to make me sound like him. Addition to addition to mental note: taze the Box Ghost . . . repeatedly.

"Why do you want to know?" Mom asked, eyes glinting hopefully. She's alway's trying to get me and Jazz interested in the family buisness . . . if only she knew how involved I _really_ am . . .

"So I can avoid it." Whoa! Where did that come from? I was gonna say because I was curious!

"Why on earth would you want to avoid this?" Dad boomed. "It's not like you're a ghost!"

"Um . . . oh, look at the time!" I shouted, then tried to bolt for the door.

Didn't make it. Damn.

"Danny dear, the Fenton Tazer won't hurt a human; there's no reason to be afraid of it." Mom frowned slightly, tightening her hold on the back of my collar. Thank god I'm already half dead . . . but if she doesn't let go, I'll be full and gone . . . air . . . I need air . . .

"C'mon Danny, just hold it!" Dad thrust the invention into my hands, mistaking my flailing for eagerness instead of need to breathe. "Why you wanna avoid it?"

"'Cuz it'll stun me." I blurted, then tried to cover my mouth but failed as the tazer-thing was still in my hands and I was still having troubles breathing.

"Why's it gonna stun you?!" Mom gasped.

"'Cuz I'm Danny Pha--" No no no no no! Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop! STUPID MOUTH! WHY WON'T YOU OBEY ME?!?!

I must rephraze an earlier statement. Thank every god out there for Jazz being there. She slapped a hand over my mouth and shouted t mom "MOM! You're strangling him!"

She automatically let go of my collar. Wonderful, blessed air . . . oh, how I missed thee . . . Mom checked the time after (finally) releasing her death-hold and gasped. "Danny, don't you have school?"

"Yeah."

"Well, hurry! You're gonna be late!"

I calmly sighed and walked out the door, shrugging so my purple backpack fit better between my shoulders. Just another typical morning in the Fenton household . . . minus my mouth not obeying my brain, and my Box-Ghost-mentality problem.

Waitaminnut . . .

AW, **DAMMIT**!

Oh, that Box Ghost will get tazered so very, very many times . . .

Axion _wasn't _going into the candy buisness after all.


	3. Coming Soon To A Theater Near You!

**_DANNY'S POV:_**

"You swallowed **_WHAT?!_**" Sam screamed at the top of her lungs.

In the middle of the lunchroom.

During lunch.

In front of all of Casper High.

Right in my ear.

Ow.

Tucker said nothing, simply staring at me. "Are you serious? You actually swallowed some of that truth potion?"

"On accident." I repeated for the upteenth time that day, sighing. Just before my _lovely_ near-deaf experience, I'd finally managed to whisper to Sam and Tucker my suspicion as to why I couldn't stop blurting the truth. I'd told them at the beginning of lunch, but they'd been completely unable to do anything but stare at me. Only five minutes to go 'til the end of lunch, and Sam had finally reacted. Albeit painfully so . . .

"But . . . how?" Tucker blinked. "You didn't stick any of it in your mouth when we first saw the stuff, and you didn't afterwards . . ."

"Tucker, actually listen to the words coming out of my mouth: I. Don't. Know." With each word, I pointed at my mouth. "Understand? Or do I need to go slower? IIIIIIIIIIII . . . dooooooonnnn'ttttttttttt . . . knnnnoooooooowwwww . . ."

"Sorry!" Tucker winced, scowling. Uh-oh.

"I'm sorry too, Tuck. This is just so _frustrating_ . . . I guess I'm taking it out on you, so I'm sorry." I rested my chin on the table, exhausted. It really was frustrating . . . and just after I was finally getting some good luck. Maybe the gods hate me up there . . . it would make sense, wouldn't it?

"We know, Danny. We're sorry too." Sam placed a hand on my shoulder apologetically.

"You should be; you're the one who almost yelled his ear off." Tucker laughed. Sam glared at him . . . the idiot only laughed harder. Next time, when she yells in _his_ ear, I'm gonna laugh so hard . . . maybe I'll videotape it . . . yeah . . .

The bell interrupted bliss-filled thoughts of maimed ears, and I sighed as I picked up my lunch tray. Hmm . . . I've been sighing a lot today. That's new. I tossed the half-full tray in the trashcan, attempting to ignore the reek of garbage (being a halfa gives you a better sense of smell, I guess . . . and sight . . . and hearing . . . and taste . . . and just nevermind, okay?).

"Let's just get to Lancer's class . . ."

Behind me, Sam leaned close to Tucker in a conspiratory-kind-of-way. Thanks to my glorious halfa powers, I heard her whisper quite well.

" . . . betcha ten bucks he doesn't last five minutes without blurting something to Lancer."

"YOU'RE ON!"

Ow . . . my poor ear . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . oh, man.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . why am I not surprised?

Naturally, this had to happen. Of course. It's the way my life works, huh? Goodluck for five seconds, bad luck for five minutes, five seconds of good luck again, etc etc etc . . . so, naturally this would happen.

"All right class, pull out your homework." Lancer droned. My immediate reaction was . . . to not react at all. As per usual.

"Fenton, no homework again?"

"Nosir." Good. A truthful question that doesn't harm me past a failing grade.

"Why not?" . . . I had to open my mouth, didn't I? . . . mind, mouth, whatever.

"Because." Eh, it's truthful . . .

"Because why?"

"Becuase I was out fighting gho--"

_**SLAP!!!**_

"Uh . . ." Sam dead-panned as Lancer stared at her. " . . . there was a fly on Danny's cheek?"

Thanks, Sammiekins. Save me from blurting out my most-important-lifelong-secret by slapping me. Now my ear _and_ my cheek hurt. I hope this doesn't become a trend.

"Right. Fenton, why didn't you do your homework again?"

"Because." Maybe he'd catch the hint this time?

Oh, why do I raise my hopes so? "Because why?"

"Because I was out fighting gho--"

**_SLAP!!!_**

"Uh . . . another fly?"

"Manson, please refrain from hitting Fenton again. You may be mad, but I assure you you can beat him up after class. Fenton, why didn't you do your homework?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I was out fighting gho--"

**_SLAP!!!_**

Maybe I should just shut up now.

"Another _fly_, Manson?!"

" . . . nosir."

"Then why did you slap Fenton?! AGAIN?!"

" . . . it was a mosquito this time, honest . . ."

Maybe Sam should shut up too.

"For the lasdt time, Fenton, why didn't you do your homework?!"

"Because."

"Because WHY?!"

"Because I was out fighing gho--"

**_SLAP!!!_**

. . . why do I even bother?

Lander was absolutely livid as he growled at Sam. "Sweet _Grapes Of Wrath_, Manson! Why on earth are you slapping Fen--"

Thank yooooooou, Box Ghost!

. . . wow, never thought I'd say that one . . .

"BEWARE! I am master of all things cardboard and square!" said savior (never thought I'd say _that_ one, either) boomed in what he probably thought was a meanacing manner. "I am here to claim your boxes of DOOOOM!"

"Mr. Lancer?" Tucker interrupted calmly.

"Yes, Foley?"

"Permission to run and scream 'ghost', please?"

"Sure, Foley."

"Thank you . . . GHOOOOOOOST!" Maybe Tuck has a good future in acting after all. He waved his arms, falling backwards into me. Sam caught on and also fell. Betweent the two of them, I managed to go ghost without anyone seeing. For the sake of a good entrance, I phased through the floor, into the next classroom, waited a few moment and phased back up. The point of this? I don't really know.

"Why don't you ever _stay_ where I put you?" I sighed at the Box Ghost. "Honestly, you're so annoying . . ."

"Phantom! BEWARE!" he bellowed, raisin his arms to call boxes to his aid. None came . . . maybe because there weren't any in the room? "Why don't my cardboard minions come?!" Dude, don't you read internal monologues?

Yawning (I was tired, after all), I pressed the capture button on the Fenton Thermos. In a flash of blue-white light, said 'menace' was sucked inside with a feeble "Beeeeeeware . . ."

"Such a nuisance . . ." I capped off the Thermos, turning to phase through the wall and up through the floor again to reappear as Fenton.

"WAIT!" A hand latched onto my ankle. I paused, turning. There stood Paulina Sanchez . . . great. Just what I always wanted, a rabid fangirl! Note use of sarcasm, if you please.

"What?"

"Did you use to like anyone?"

Stupid truth potion. "Yeah, I used to have a crush on Valer-----OH, DAMMIT!" Screw stupid truth potion . . . REALLY _REALLY_ STUPID TRUTH POTION!

"What?"

"Gottagobye!" I phased through the wall at top speed, flying right out of her grasp. Freedom!

Danny Phantom and the Truth Potion Menace, coming soon to a theater near you!

Aw . . . damn.

I forgot to tazer the moronic Box Ghost . . .


	4. Bully's Befuddlement

**A/N:**_ Wow, 13 review for three chapters; pinch me, I'm dreaming! (OW! I didn't mean you, Rocket2014!) And to be read by the authors _I_ read . . . I just hope it'll keep up :) Anyway, let's take a peek at what Dash is doin' right now . . ._

**_DASH'S POV:_**

Fen-turd's been actin' stranger than usual . . . and that's sayin' somethin'. Sure, the potty-breaks and random going-away-nesses were strange enough, but Manson hittin' him? No way _that's_ normal. I mean, the lovebirds barely fight at all. An' Foley's actin' wierd, too.

It started this mornin', too. Fenton-ia showed up jumpy and wimpier than usual. It bugs me, 'cuz I wasn't the one who made him that way. I'm the _only_ one allowed to bug the geek.

He's been blurtin' stuff all day. Maybe I can get somethin' out of him . . . after all, my daily beatin's usually get somethin' out of him regardless. If I add that to whatever's makin' him blurt junk . . . uh . . . my brain hurts . . .

Huh. For once, the idiot didn't cower when I grabbed his . .. whatchamacallit . . . that thingy around your neck, attached to your shirt? Collar! Yeah! Anyway, he didn't cower like usual when I picked him up by his collar-thingy. That's new . . . I don't think I like it.

"Hey, Fen-turd!" I leered at him toothily. This was my best evil grin. "Ready for your daily beatin'?"

"Not now, Dash . . ." His eys flickered around the hall, like he was worryin' we'd make a _scene_. Ha! No one ever even notices when I make a _scene_ that includes _Fent_o_n_. Maybe he's done somethin' that makes his whatchamacallit bigger . . ego, right.

"Why not now, Fentonia?!" I laughed. "This's your slot on my schedule. You're always bein' beat up at this time. We don't wanna mess up my schedule, now do we?"

"Wow, Dash, you finally learned how to use the word _schedule_!" Fenton rolled his eyes. Huh. "Good job! Repeat after me, now . . . Hiiiiiiiiiii Daaaaaaaannnnnnnnyyyyyyy . . . go ahead, your turn now!"

Where did that come from? The geek seemed to be thinkin' the same thing, as his face got all confused.

"You makin'_ fun_ of me, Fenton?" I growled in his face.

He shook his head, no, but he said somethin' different. "Yeah, Dash, I'm makin' fun of you. You earned it, bullying me daily. I won't be surprised if it's part of the reason I'm so exhausted is because I keep worrying about what you'll dish out tomorrow."

That confused look showed up on his face again. See what I mean about blurtin' junk?

"You're exhau . . . exhau . . ." My face musta twisted into a version of his own face. "Exhau . . . ."

"_Exhausted_." Fenton supplied.

"Yeah, that. Why you so . . . that."

"Hmm, let's ponder that one." His eyes looked real scared of somethin', but his mouth didn't seem to wanna follow orders.

"Yeah . . . let's. Don't make me beat it out of ya, Fen-turd."

He . . . laughed? Whoa.

"You really think you stand a chance against **me**, _Baxter_?" He taunted, lookin' a little braver. But his eyes still looked real terrified.

"Uh, duh?" I blinked. Now I was confused. "You almost failed that exam-thingy in gym, 'member? How the hell would you beat me, the star quarterback?"

"You have no idea, Baxter. Just put me down, now."

"No can do, Fentonia." An idea-thing jumped into my mind. "not 'til you answer the question."

"I'm not gonna." He smarted off, frowning now.

"Tell me, Fenton."

"Eh, but that wasn't a question, so I can lie here, right?" he muttered under his breath to himself. Great, the idiot talks to himself, too. What next?

"Whatcha mean, lie, Fenton?"

"Uh . . ."

"Why you suddenly able to best me in a fight?"

"Because I've got ghost po--"

**_SLAP!!!_**

Ugh. Manson slapped Fenton again.

Fenton looked annoyed.

"Dragonfly, mosquito or stinkbug?" he asked her, soundin' bored.

"None of the above?" she smiled weakly.

"Why didn't you just slap the cheek you'd slapped in Lancer's class? That one at least already hurt . . . now both hurt."

"Sorry."

"Just answer the questin, Fentonia! Why you gonna be able to beat me?!"

"Because I've got ghost po--"

**_SLAP!!!_**

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaam . . . ." Fenton hissed, his eye twitching creepily. He was either very annoyed . . . or having a seizure.


	5. Messing With A Gym Teacher 101

**_Danny's POV:_**

"And now we shall discuss the importance of teamwork . . ." Of all the teachers to give us a lecture, it just _had_ to be the gym teacher. Naturally. With the way my luck's been running, I really shouldn't be surprised.

As Ms. What's-Her-Name (okay, so I forgot . .. . will you just sue me and get it over with already?!) continued her oh-so-interesting lecture (I mean, _honestly_, what kind of _gym_ teacher gives _lectures_?), an oh-so-menacing Dash Baxter glared at me. This will not bode well. Aw, why do I care? It's not like he hasn't glared at me 24-hours-a-day, 7-days-a-week or somethin'.

"And that concludes my piece on the importance of teamwork!" Ms What's-Her-Name finished (_**finally**_) with a stern glance around at her little happy charges. "Does everyone understand?"

"Nope." I blurted.

"Fenton?" she asked, looking unsurprised (wonder why?). "Did you even listen to a _word_ of my speech?"

"Nope." Damn that truth potion. I'll never buy anything from Axion Labs ever, _ever_, **_ever_** again.

"Care to grace us as to _why_ you weren't listening?!"

"Because." Maybe this teacher is smarter than Lancer . . .

"Because why?" . . . why do I even bother raising my hopes? This _is_ Casper High we're talking about. Even the smartest student here has the attention span of a goldfish and as many brains as a baby goldfish . . . baby, egg, same difference . . . shut up already.

"Maybe I have better things to worry about than your little lecture." Ah, well. If I'm gonna have to live with the consequences of acciedentially swallowing truth potion, I might as well go out with a bang. Maybe I'll even gain a bad-boy reputation from this . . . doubtful, but a guy can dream, can't he?!

. . . can't he?

"Like _what_, Fenton?" Oh, goody. I pissed her off. "Enlighten us." Oooh, that's a long word there, good job! Maybe, when you take the SATs, you'll get the same score as Dashy-poo!

Yeah, I said Dashy-poo . . . get over it. I'm really, _really_ not in the mood for it. And neither would you, if you were me . . .

"Like maybe battling gho-"

**_SLAP!!!_**

. . . I officially hate Tucker.

"FOLEY! You know the rules! Do NOT slap another student when I'm interrogating him!"

"Sorry . . . just don't hurt the PDA! Anything but the PDA!"

Good, ol' reliable Tucker . . . yeah, right.

"Thanks, Tuck. I really needed an aching cheek . . . right after I _FINALLY LOST THE PAIN FROM SAM SLAPPING ME, TOO_!!!"

"Oww . . ." Tucker held his ear. Welcome to my world, buddy.

"FENTON! Answer the question! What on earth can be more important than a lecture on the importance of teamwork?!" Heh. The ironic thing is, I know more about teamwork than she does. When you're fightin' ghosts on a daily (more like hourly) basis, you can't help but learn how to work as a team. Anyone in the room besides Tucker and me who fights malevolent spirits every hour? I didn't think so, so don't try to tell me about teamwork.

. . . yeah, fun-filled little rants aside . . . moving on!

""Like maybe battling ghosts! I already told you that!"

**_SLAP!!!_**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tucker Foley, when I get out of whatever torture this maniac teacher assigns me now, you are so dead. And you know full well how I can do dead. So you better start runnin', boy . . . . . .

"FOLEY! DETENTION! FENTON! **DETENTION**!"

"Oooh, detention . . . scary place." I pretended to cower, then straightened with a smirk Huh, that's new . . . but, then again, what isn't? "Thanks, I really needed something to fill my afternoon. D'you think you could sign me up for Monday, too?"

"Fenton . . . . . . . ." Oooh, scary voice! I'm soo terrified.

"Like detention's gonna do anything, anyways . . . honestly, do you even know how many times I've already _been_ there?"

"Fenton . . . . . . . . not another word, or it's the principle's office with you!"

I was grinning now, as I leaned a little closer. " . . . another word."

"PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE! **NOW**!"

I laughed, ambling out as if this were a daily thing (you know, it kinda is . . . even though I've never actually _tried_ to get in trouble before . . . usually, I'm in there becuase I've missed too many classes from fighting too many ghosts; everyone thinks I'm a troublemaker, but I'm really not . . .). "Yes! An excuse to get out of this class!"

Five minutes later . . .

"Hey, Ichiyama." I strolled in, bored expression plastered on my face. "How many times have I been in here now . . . twenty? Maybe we should put a plaque on that chair out in the waiting room. Here's an idea: we can label it, saying 'This chair is hereby reserved for Danny Fenton'. Eh, sound good? Glad you agree. Bye now!" I headed back out the door. I'd breezed in and out so fast, she didn't even realize what had happened. She just blinked after me, little microscopic brain trying to process my little mini-rant.

"It can be screwed on to the back, right there." I called back over my shoulder, tracing my index fingers in a rectangular shape on the chair's wooden back. "Gold, with wonderful embossed lettering . . . oh, very nice." I blew my way back into Ichiyama's office, beaming inside at the look of befuddlement on her face.

Normally, I wouldn't say this, but . . .

. . . messing with Ichiyama is actually pretty _fun_.

Sam would be proud, eh?

. . . just as long as she doesn't show her appreciation by kicking me . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . oww . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


	6. CONSPIRACY!

**A/N:**_ Okay, this is a chapter, but it's also not a chapter . . . if that makes any sense. I guess it's a sort of foreward to the next actual chapter . . . sorry it's so short, but I just couldn't pass up this idea._

**_Danny's POV:_**

"Honestly, how many times have you been sent to the principal's office _now_, Danny?" Sam asked, sighing (after kicking a particular shin a particular number of times because a particular person almost blurted a particular secret . . . oww . . .)

"A grand total of---" Tucker began, already whipping out the trust PDA-of-doom. Great . . . Box-Ghost-lingo has returned . . .

"-- 24 times." I interrupted. At least the stupid truth potion's helped me for once. "Not counting when I was almost sent and or when I fell in while fighting a ghost."

"Counting those?" Sam blinked. It wasn't every day I beat Tucker to the punch. My attention span is too short . . . I think.

Tucker opened his mouth again, but I interrupted . . . again.

"67."

"That many? Wow . . you've got one heck of a record, Danny!" Sam laughed, slapping my shoulder. Oww . . . what is it with everybody and abusing me today? Maybe it's some kinda conspiracy . . . yeah, that's it, conspiracy! And Sam's the leader! Tucker's the secretary, and Dash is her minion! It's a conspiracy, I tell you! CONSPIRACY! Val's leading their weapons department, and Paulina's . . . what's Paulina do? Oh yeah, she's the costume designer! It's a full-fledged conspiracy! A plot to knock me down a couple pegs I don't have! My poor pegs! CONSPIRACY! _CONSPIRACY!!!_

"CONSPIRACY!" I yelled at her, taking off down the corridor.

" . . . . . . wha?"


	7. SAVE ME, SAMMIEKINS!

**_Danny's POV:_**

"KEMPLEEEEEEEEEER!"

"Best friend!" Kempler, the strangest ghost I've ever had the misfortune to meet, squished me tighter in his bear hug. The dude is friend-deprived, and has got it into his head that everyone out there in the world wants to be his friend. His number one target?

. . . well, let's just say that if I was in pain from all the slapping from earlier, I'm awful close to dying right now.

Taking a deep breath, I prepared for my Ghostly Wail. Normally, I save it for extremities and emergencies, but the way I've been feeling all day . . . yeah, this is my equivalent of twenty emergencies. Okay, so it's more like 3, but really . . . kill a guy for being dramatic. Wait, scratch that . . . I'm technically already half-dead, so that kinda ruins the purpose . . .

Thank youuuuuu, Ghostly Wail! As soon as I released it upon Kempler, he was blown away. Yes! Oh, sweet blessed air . . . I shall never shy away from Mom's death-grip ever again . . . even _that_ lets me get more air than _Kempler_ . . .

I sucked the friend-deprived ghostie into the fenton Thermos, relaxing automatically as I let two blue rings appear around my waist. They seperated to turn me back from Phantom to Fenton. "_Finally_, I get to go _home_ . . ." I turned around, only to meet the stern gaze of a police officer. "U-uh . . . hi?"

"Hello. Aren't you out quite a bit past curfew?"

" . . . curfew?"

"Didn't you know? It was announced last week that, due to the power and might of the most recent ghost attacks, all peoples under age 20 must be inside a building of some sort and supervised by 8:30 PM."

"Yeah, w-well . . . I . . ." If only it weren't for that stupid potion . . . then I'd be able to say I was 21. Might as well give it a go . . . "See, I'm not a kid . . . I'm 21 . . ." It worked? YES!!! I'M **_FREE_**!!!

The policeman gave me a stern-er look. This appeared to be quite hard for him, as he seemed to be fighting to keep a straight face. Okay, so I don't look exactly 21 . . . wouldn't 20-and-a-half work? I can do 20-and-a-half . . .

"Okay, okay, so I'm only 20-and-a-half . . ."

Okay, now the guy just looked constipated.

"Sorry, bud, but it's 10:00 and I don't think you're 20-and-a-half."

"Um . . . 20-and-a-month?"

. . . I didn't think it was possible for a police officer to look like he had to pee really bad _and_ constipated as well . . .

" . . . wouldja settle for 20-and-a-hour?"

Great. Constipated, potty-break **_and_** fightin' for a straight face.

" . . . all right, so I'm still 14. What're you gonna do, book me?!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . wow, I just had to go and open my mouth, eh?

And here I am, sitting . . . in the damp . . . in a jail cell . . . waiting for the officer to let me make my phone call so I could beg Jazz to bail me out . . . and trying to inch myself as far away as possible from the very large and very _muscular_ prisoner next to me. Yeah, this was the life . . . just what I always wanted.

"All right, boy--" The officer, still looking constipated-potty-break-and-fightin'-for-a-straight-face-ish, told me, keys jingling as he unlocked the cell.

"Danny." I interrupted. If there's anything I hate more than being called a kid, it's being called 'boy'. Above that, there's only one other name I despise with all my heart . . . _Daniel_. Uuuugh . . . insert shudder here, if you please. Why, oh why did my parents name me that?

. . . then again, why oh why are they so . . . them? Honestly, who in their right mind would put the On switch for the Fenton Portal on the _INSIDE_ of said portal?!

"Right then . . . Danny." Oooh, joy. I only made him look more constipated. "You can make your one phone call now."

"Gee, thanks mister." I pretended to be all cute and cuddly, then grinned and ambled over to the phone. A row of chairs rested against the wall next to it. At least I'd be able to sit while explaining to Jazz. This might take a while . . . in order to hurry up my doom and get it over with, I punched in the numbers as fast as possible.

"Hello, Fenton Household, Jazmine Fenton speaking. Jack and or Maddie Fenton can't come to the phone right now, but if you'd like to leave a messa--" Jazz started reciting the stupid answer we had to use anytime anyone called. It'd been drilled into us time after time . . . since age _4_.

"-ge for them, I'd be glad to take it. If you have a message for my brother Daniel, he's not available right now either, but I will take a message for him as well. If you'd like to schedule an extortionism, that would qualify under a messge for Jack or Maddie Fenton. If you have information regarding a ghost, please leave include that in a message to Jack and Maddie Fenton. If you wish to schedule a general appointment, I can set that up for you. Yeah, Jazz, I know." I interrupted, finishing the ever-so-long message for her.

"Danny? Is that you?"

"Yep. Look, Jazz I nee-"

"SAM!" I heard her yell. "DANNY'S ON THE PHONE!"

"Nice to know." I told Jazz. "But Sam can't drive, so thus talking to her won't really help."

"Why do you need someone to drive? Just a sec, I'll put you on speaker." A quick beep, and now I could hear both Sam and Jazz.

"DON'T PUT ME ON SPEAKER IF MOM AND DAD ARE HOME!" I bellowed. Quite impressively, I might add . . . heh heh.

"OW! Geez, they're not home, otherwise I wouldn't have put you on speaker. Where are you? You were supposed to be home a good 3 hours ago!"

"Yeah . . . see, that's actually a funny story, that . . ."

" . . . Danny . . . what did you do . . ."

"Um . . . what would you do if I said I got myself arrested?"

Silence.

This does not bode well.

Wait for it . . .

Initiating countdown to impending doom (hold phone a good foot away from ear, if you will) . . .

5.

4.

3.

2.

1 . . .

"**You _WHAT?!?!?!?!?!_**"

Oww . . . hence proving my suspicion that Jazz is also in on the conspiracy idea. She's the treasurer, I know it . . . CONSPIRACY!

"CONSPIRACY!" I yelled into the phone, already starting to wave an arm frantically. Yeah, I was spazzing . . . _please_ don't hurt me to make me stop . . .

" . . . . . . wha?"

" . . . nevermind. Look, I'm begging you . . . please bail me out? I don't want Mom or Dad to know . . . _especially_ Mom!"

"Okay, okay . . . luckily, they didn't take the RV." Sam told me, having obviously handed the obviously-hyperventilating Jazz a brown paper bag. "How much is bail?"

"Just a sec." I covered the mouthpiece with one hand, leaning over towards sleeping Constipated Officer. "HEY!"

"AAAAAGH! What is it? Whatcha want?!"

"How much is bail?

"Uh. $200."

"Thanks." I repeated the info to Sam.

"Good, I have just that much on me." Oh yeah. Rich girl. Forgot. "We'll be on our way, just hang on a second and don't hang up."

"'Kay."

"Jazz, where are the keys to the RV?!" Sam yelled, sounding distant over the phone. " . . . whatcha mean, they're not here? The Fentons took them?! You're kidding me!" Turning back to me, she said "We've encountered a problem."

" . . . how big a problem?"

"Um . . . the no-keys-to-drive-the-car kind of problem . . ."

". . . oh. Um, do you know how to hotwire a car?"

"Nope. Do you?"

"Yeah. All right, follow these instructions."

It took a while, seeing as our phone was one of the old-fashioned corded kind. Sam had to get the instruction from me (while I had police officers breathing down my neck, too . . . maybe hotwiring a car isn't the best conversation topic to be discussing in a police station, complete with jail), run out to the garage, follow the instruction, run back, get the next instruction . . . etc, etc, etc.

Finally, she got the car running. While she was running back, a police officer bent down to whisper something in my ear.

Sam says that this is what she heard upon picking up the phone:

"YOU SAID, _ONE_ PHONE CALL! **_ONE_ **PHONE CALL! YOU NEVER SPECIFIED HOW LONG IT COULD BE! **_ONE FREAKIN' PHONE CALL! THIS IS ONE FREAKIN' PHONE CALL!_**"

" . . . Danny?"

I struggled against the police officers, fighting to regain control of the phone. "Sam . . . just . . . hey, let go . . . get down . . . stop that . . . here as fast . . . LET ME GO . . . as you can . . . okay . . . HEY, don't touch me there!" With that, Constipated Officer hung up for me.

As I was dragged (kicking, screaming and fighting all the way) back to my happy little cell, my gaze fell upon a gold square on the back of a chair.

"No . . . freakin' . . . way . . ."

_This chair is hereby reserved for one Daniel Jackson Fenton._

Oh, WOW . . .

Hey, God! I meant the PRINCIPAL'S office, not the damned POLICE STATION!

. . . but you did a _nice_ job on the embossed lettering . . .


	8. Questions, Questions, And More Questions

**_Sam's POV (heh, bet y'all were waitin' for this one, eh?):_**

"Hey Sam?" Danny asked as he walked home with me (after Jazz and I bailed him out of jail, of course). "Can I asks you a question?"

"Well, you didn't give me much of a choice, now, did you sunshine?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hey!"

I cracked up, whacking him upside the arm ("CONSPIRACY!"). "Relax, boy! I'm only kidding! What's your question?"

"Well . . ."

"Well what?"

" . . . you know the speed of light, right Sammy?" He's lucky he's so cute, otherwise I'd have smacked his head for calling me Sammy . . . wait just a second! I did _not_ just call Danny Fenton, best friend since second grade . . . _cute_. Oh, the horror . . .

"Well, yeah. Your point?"

"Well . . ."

" . . . ."

" . . . ."

" . . . . HONESTLY boy, just spit it out already!" I sighed gustily, throwing my hands up in exasperation. Seriously, how on earth could one guy be so clueless after spending almost every waking moment fighting off **ghosts**?!

"Fine." He huffed, crossing his arms and pouting. So cute . . . ARGH, not cute! Not cute! NOOOT CUUUUUUTE! "What's the speed of dark?"

" . . . . . . . wha?"

"We know the speed of light. Well then, what's the speed of dark?" Danny stopped pouting, turning to me with pure curiousity written all over his face. Heh, we're so much alike that way. But damnit, it was curiousity that got him into the portal in the first place! You'd think he'd learn his lesson.

Yeah, clueless all right.

"I don't know. I don't think anyone's ever measured the speed of dark." I pondered for a moment. "Hmm . . . I guess we can research it really quickly at my house . . ."

Ah, the magic words. Danny absolutely beamed, squishing me in a one-armed hug. He didn't know how strong he was getting sometimes . . . yeah, the misjudge-your-own-strength kind of hero; that's our Danny.

"Yesss! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"

"All right, all right! Just let go already!" Thank god for the darkness to hide my blush.

He obeyed, still grinning into the street. After a moment, said grin faded off to the same pondering look he'd had before asking me about the speed of . . . the speed . . . ha ha . . . speed of . . . heh . . . oh, GODS! _Only_ Danny could come up with the question _what's the speed of dark_! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha okay I'm done.

" . . . okay, what's the question now?"

" . . . you know lots of random stuff."

"Nice to know. What's your question now?"

"Then you've heard of the myth-thingy that rats leave a ship when it's about to sink, right?"

"Yes . . ."

"Then . . . where, exactly, do the rats think they're going?"

" . . . . . . . . . . only you, Danny. Only you."

"Only what? Huh?"

"Nevermind."

"What?! I wanna know!"

"Nevermind."

"Don't _make_ me use the puppy-dog pout . . ."

"DON'T!!!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanny . . . . Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanny . . . DANNY!"

"AAAGH!" Said boy promptly fell out of his desk when I yelled in his ear the next day at school. Once we'd survived my family's butler's creepy disapproving looks (directed at Danny, mainly), we'd rushed up the stairs to my room. Damn Danny's ghost powers sometimes . . . he'd phased through the wall so he'd get to the computer first. We'd spent a good hour trying to find the answers to both of Danny's questions (and the other's he'd come up with along the way . . . apparently, my 'offer' to help him research at my house had opened a _floodgate_ of questions, dammit . . . I mean, I'm for individuality and all, but Danny unleashed waay too much on me waay too fast . . .) until Jazz called and yelled at him to, I quote, 'get his scrawny butt home before she came over and made him'. He'd chuckled nervously, phased through the door and left.

Now, for the past fifteen minutes, he'd been staring into space with no reason whatsoever. It was like he was in a trance or something, so I woke him up. Easier said than done, just so you know.

"What's wrong with you now?" Tucker asked, already fiddling with his precious PDA. "Another bang on the head?"

"Nice implication." I told him, grinning.

"Huh?" Danny came all the way back down from Pluto. "Sorry, I kinda got lost in thought . . . d'you think you could send out a search party for me?" He yawned. Search party . . . ha ha ha . . . thought . . . heh heh . . . I pressed a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter fighting to burst through. Danny was funny when he was still trying to completely wake up.

"I know what'll wake you up!" Tucker grinned, pulling out a green vial. Was it just me, or was it . . . pulsing?

"Tucker, what is that?" I asked.

Danny laid his head on his desk and yawned again. "I ain't touchin' it. With my luck, it'd be more of that damned truth potion."

"I don't know what it is . . ." Tucker admitted slowly.

"Then I _really_ ain't touchin' it. With my luck added to that, and that product added to Tucker's luck, I'd be dead in five seconds flat."

Tucker attempted to frown and glare at Danny, but he was actually fighting a grin. "Hey Danny?"

"Yeah, slick?"

"What happens when you get scared half to death twice?"

" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

" . . . yeah, I'll shut up now."

"Step into my office, Tucker. Now." Danny dragged us out into the hallway.

"Danny, this is a hallway. Not an office."

"NOT THE POINT!"

"Besides, don't worry! I already tried some; it's liquid candy!"

"Really?" Danny perked up, all anger at Tucker forgotten. He's got a candy addiction . . . only problem is, even the slightest bit will make him hyper for hours. Why and how do I know this?

. . . let's just say it was a LONG Halloween . . .

"Go ahead, it's all yours. I was never one for Sour Apple. Made my breath too irrisistable to the ladies . . ." Tucker grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. Irrisistable, riiiiiiiiiiight . . .

"Danny, no--" I started, but Danny was faster.

Within a matter of seconds he had the vial in his hand, and downed it. However, after a moment of pure happiness etched onto his face, his expression began to look puzzled.

"What's wrong now?" I groaned.

"Um . . . Tucker, that stuff tastes like the truth potion I accidentially swallowed . . ."


	9. The Early Morning Routine

**A/N:**_ All right, everyone, there are a few things that need to be said. _

_Number one: I am about to get a kitten, which means I have to spend all my time with the kitten. Which means I won't be able to update. HOWEVER! That does NOT mean that Truth Be Told will end! It merely means that Rocket 2014 will be continuing for us._

_Number two: I'm gonna change my username. Don't be surprised if Rocket2014 starts saying that Tzigane-Akiko helped instead of Xiannodel, because that shall be my new name. Same writer, different name. Yeah._

_Number three: THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS!_

_On with what you actually came here to read, hmm? Sorry it's so short, but I'm so busy . . . Rocket2014 will be updating ASAP._

* * *

**_Jazz's POV:_**

It was early in the morning . . . and I had a job to do.

Armed with assorted 'weapons' such as pillows, blankets, and a feather (don't ask), I took deep breaths as I faced down my foe . . .

. . . a sleeping Danny Fenton.

Oh, I've always hated early morning wake-up routines. Actually . . . used to. Now, it's really quite enjoyable. His metabolism has lowered, plus he's always exhausted, so my little bro makes no sense. I record him, and it's so very entertaining on a rainy day!

I grinned as I opened the door. My prey was stretched out along his bed, wrapped tightly in his blankets. As I aproached, the prey merely continued to snore. Time for the ultimate weapon . . . begin countdown to liftoff . . . . 5 . . . . 4 . . . . 3 . . . . 2 . . . . 1 . . . .

**_BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBA!!!! BAMBA BAM! BAM!!!_** I banged two very large pots together as loudly as I could.

Toldja it was liftoff.

"**YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!**" Danny jumped a good five feet into the air. However, as per usual, he misjudged the distance between him . . . and the edge of the bed.

**_BAM!_**

"Jaaaaaaaaaazzzzzzzzzzz . . ." Danny growled, lying facedown on his floor. " . . . . I dun want da chickenzzz . . . zzzzzzz . . . "

"Danny! Time to wake up!" I sang, chipper as always when it came to waking up my brother.

"Ugh . . . five more minutes, Mom . . ."

"Not Mom. Jazz. Jazz of the InterGalactic Randomness Society. _Captain_ of the InterGalactic Randomness Society."

"Hmph. One by one, the penguins must be driving me insane now . . ." Danny grumbled, crawling back into his bed.

Here is where the pillows come into play. I raised one over my head, grinning maliciously. With a not-so-fluffy-sounding poof, I whamed it onto my brother's head. This was repeated several times, using all of my three pillows. Groaning, Danny escaped by turning invisible. Darn him . . . time for the blankets!

I threw those at random. One draped over his body, sitting up in bed. Unsheathing my feather, I crept closer. Danny had just given up on invisibility, and his bare foot stuck out from under the edge of the blankets. This will be gloriously satisfying . . .

"Ahahahahahahaha! Stopstopstop hahahahahahaha stopstopstopstop hahahahahaha!"

"Nuh-uh! If I did, I'd have to chain you to the wall, knock you out and BURN YOU TO A CRISP WITH A FLAMETHROWER!!!"

" . . . you have a flamethrower?"

"Just . . . get out of bed already, you psycho . . ."

"You say that like it's a _bad_ thing to be psycho . . ."

. . . oh, yes, this will be going on my MP3 as soon as I can get onto the Fenton Computer . . .

And then I'll try to analyze Danny again.

Poor thing . . . . after _my _kind of torture, he needs my help . . .


	10. To Piss Off Dash, Follow This Guide:

**A/N:**_ Heya, y'all! This is Tzigane-Akiko (by the way, shorthand will now be TziAki). Guess what? My kitten has adapted a lot faster than we thought, so I have tons of free time again! Which means Rocket2014 doesn't have to update for me (which she says is a good thing; she didn't want to have to update after all)! I is back! But on with the story. You probably want me to shut up now.

* * *

_

**_Danny's POV:_**

"So, Danny, how's your day gone so far?" Tucker asked me with a grin when lunchtime finally rolled around. It was almost painfully obvious that he was trying desperately hard to refrain from breaking out into what could only be predicted as uncontrollable laughter.

I was _not_ having a good day, so I told him so. But not in so many words . . . "Tuck, I need to strangle something . . . hold still, will ya?"

"Uh . . . forget I asked." Tucker (wisely) silenced himself.

"Smart move." Sam told him point-blank, sipping her water. Sorry, distilled water.

I simply groaned and rested my head on the table, carefully avoiding my posessed lunch tray (trust me, our cafeteria food is _much_ scarier than any ghost, any day . . .). Like I'd just previously stated, I was not having a good day at all. First, Jazz woke me up by clanging two pots together . . . loudly. After that, she tickled me awake and threatened with a flamethrower I didn't know she had. Then, once I got to school, the Lunch Lady attacked and made me late for first hour. Thus, the finally-numbed ache of my cheek was reawakened from Sam slapping me again while Lancer tried to make me tell why I was late. Then, Technus attacked in the middle of a lecture during third hour. More slaps, both on my exit and on my return. Kicks were recieved in fourth hour, from Sam stopping me from blurting out why I'd pulled the fire alarm (which was because no one would leave during _another_ ghost fight with the Lunch Lady, so I had to get them out somehow). Finally, lunchtime.

Why was Sam brutally abusing me so?

Well, it turns out that what Tucker thought was liquid candy that tasted like the truth potion actually WAS the truth potion. Which I accidentially swallowed.

Again.

Why do the gods hate me so? Thankfully, I haven't been beat up by Dash yet. Maybe I'll be able to avoid him for the remainder of the school day . . . unless the gods are out to make my life as miserable as possible.

"Hey Fentonia!"

Ah. I knew it.

The gods _**are** _out to make my life as miserable as possible.

"Hey Dash . . ." I groaned again, not moving my head from its oh-so-comfortable resting place on the table. I really was **_NOT_** in the mood for this right now. Dash would probably end up making me blow my top, which would in turn reveal my Pantom secret, which would result in general pain all around. Really, not in the mood.

He didn't just go away. Instead, he grbbed the top of my head and forced my head up. "Hey Fentonia! I hears you been blurtin' stuff all day again!" He smirked smugly as I glared at him.

"Just go away . . ." When he let go, I rested my chin on the edge of the table. Really, really not in the mood. I cannot stress that enough. Not in the mood.

"What's that, Fen-turd? You want me to stay and hang out? If you insist . . . !" Stupid, oblivious Dash never could take a hint. Ah well. That was expected. Thus, it didn't surprise me when he plopped all his muscle and jocky-jerk-attitude into the seat next to mine.

"Dash, I'm freakin' serious. Just go away for once . . ."

"Tut tut, Fenton, I'm already sitting in the seat! Don't make me hit you for wanting my company so bad!"

Okay.

That one . . . was funny.

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh . . .

. . . . aw, who the hell am I kiddin'?! This is too funny! Dash . . . hitting _me_? If that didn't happen enough already! And, if you think about _who_ he's _really_ beating up . . .

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Nearly everyone in the lunchroom stared at me, probably assuming that I'd finally lost it. It just made me laugh harder. And when I saw Sam and Tucker looking like they couldn't figure out what was going on and were trying to figure out how to stop it . . . yeah, I went into hysterics.

Dash, unsirprisingly, did not like my response.

"You _laughin'_ at me, Fenton? You better be laughing _with_ me, or else . . ."

Oh, man, this was gooooooood . . . . for once, Dash actually provided amusement!

"No, Dash, I'm not laughing with you. I'm laughing **AT** you, and it's **REALLY** funny!" I laughed harder. Ah, the truth potion has had its moment of usefulness! I needed this soo bad . . . heh heh heh! "Ahahahahahahahahahaha!"

"_Ahahahahaha_!" Dash mocked in a fake, high-pitched voice (only making me laugh harder). "Stop it, Fen-turd!"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Stop it!"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"_Stop it_!"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"_STOP IT_!"

Sam finally caught on to the hilarity of the situation, and started to giggle a little. Tucker gave her a wierd look that completely stated 'who-the-hell-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-Sam'. She elbowed him in the ribs, and whispered why it was funny in his ear. He started to chuckle, and it escalated until they were laughing almost as hard as I was. Valerie took another moment before giggling nervously, but then it changed to her actual laugh (probably because I looked so funny . . . I had my forehead on my forearm as I laughed, and was banging the table with the other hand curled into a fist). Star, sitting next to her, followed suit. It spread . . . and spread . . . and spread.

My hysterics were lost now in a crowd of hysterics.

Oooh, my day just went from terrible to best ever . . . . .

* * *

. . . and then it had to shoot right back down, eh? 

I now find myself, still in hysterics, sitting in a chair in the principal's office. Better yet, Ishiyama actually followed my suggestion and the chair I am currently half-falling-out-of has a lovely gold plaque reading 'this seat is hereby reserved for Daniel Fenton'.

As you have probably guessed, my hysterics would not be calming down for a while now.

"Fenton, you can go in now." The secretary told me, giving me and my laughter a nervous smile. Yep, she probably thought I was off to the looney-bin as well.

I just laughed harder as I struggled up off the seat (do you have any idea how hard it is to get up from a chair when you're laughing so hard you're falling off said chair?). Entering Ishiyama's office, further hysterics ensued upon seeing the principal's stern but completely confused face.

" . . . -t-take a seat, Daniel . . ."

Wait for it . . . "C'mon, Ishiyama! I've been in here enought that you can call me Danny by now, you know!" And the hysterics have increased! And they increase furthur upon watching Ishiyama's expression turn to furthur confusion! Wow, I'm starting to have trouble breathing . . . in, out, in, out, in, out . . . NOT WORKING! AHAHAHAHA!

Ishiyama made the wise choice and just sat there, waiting for me to stop laughing. Oh, if she'd have opened her mouth . . . maybe we'd have needed CPR or whatever you do when someone's not breathing.

Finally, I calmed down enough that I wasn't cracking up at every word or facial change. A few chuckles, but now I was calm.

"Fine . . . Danny . . . " Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh . . . "Dash Baxter came in here a few minutes ago sayin you were picking on him in the cafeteria. Now, why on earth would you do that?! He's our star quarterback, for heaven's sake!"

Okay, now I'm totally solemn. Me, pick on Dash? "Ishiyama, it's the other way around. Dash bullies me _daily_. This is the first time I retaliated, and I didn't even do that. All I did was laugh because I found something he said funny. That' not _picking_ on him. If that's what you consider _picking_, then Dash has earned himself a lifetime of expulsion."

"Daniel, if he's been bullying you, then why haven't you told us?! If you'd mentioned it, we would have done something about it!"

Okay. That's the last straw. Don't you _dare_ lie to me, Ishiyama.

I shot to my feet, slamming my palms down on the edge of her desk. My face was a pure mask of hatred, I could see in the mirror behind her. "Dammit, don't you DARE lie to me, Ishiyama! I HAVE told you about Dash's bullying, but you did absolutely NOTHING about it! Don't you **DARE** lie to me!!!"

"Daniel! I am not _lying_ to you! You have _never_ come to me about bullying!"

"Oh yeah? Monday of _this_ week. Tuesday of last week. Monday of last week. Friday of two weeks ago, and Thurday two weeks ago. Tuesday, two weeks ago. It's fuckin' _daily_, Ishiyama! I get beat up DAILY by Dash, and I've made appointments to talk to you about it! You've _talked_ to me in those appointments! But what did you tell me? That Dash doesn't beat anyone up. I have freakin' **_PROOF_**, dammit!"

"Really?" Great. Now _she's _angry too. "Then show me!"

Now, as you may have guessed, being half-ghost gives me pretty fast healing powers. However, when it comes to Dash . . . those don't heal for a while, half of the time. I have _plenty_ of proof.

I pulled up some of my shirt. There are bruises there, from Dash hitting me when I wouldn't tell him why I was blurting stuff out a day or so ago. They're half-healed, and still pretty black-and-blue. I watched Ishiyama's face as I fixed my shirt.

"Daniel. That's not from Dash. You probably ran into something and didn't notice, or got hit with something from a ghost fight!"

. . . okay, Ishiyama, you /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// (sorry, I had to censor that part . . . I cussed at her in my mind with some foul language usage I doubt you knew I knew). Now you're over the line.

"NOT FROM DASH?" I hissed under my breath. "I HURT LIKE ALL HELL, AND YOU SAY I DON'T KNOW WHAT HURT ME? I CAN ASSURE YOU, IT WAS DASH'S FIST THAT DID THAT! YOU WANT MORE PROOF? **_FINE_**!!!" I whipped around and showed her the _permanent_ imprit of my locker's combination lock in the middle of my back. It's there because of Dash's habit of pushing me against my locker before beating me up.

There was no way she could try to sway that one. If she does, I'm so going to have Sam help me sue and sue and sue and sue and sue and sue . . .

Her face was white when I turned back around. Hah. What you gonna do now about your 'star quarterback', Ishiyama?

"I . . . I'm sorry, Daniel . . . I didn't know . . . I'll talk to Dash about it . . ."

Eh. It wouldn't do much except make him beat me up harder, but I'll take what I get.

"Thanks, Ishiyama." I strode towards the door, but paused with my hand on the handle. "By the way . . ."

"By the way what?"

I smiled to myself. Without turning back, I said over my shoulder " . . . by the way, thanks for the plaque on the chair."

Before she could respond, I was out the door and gone.

Heh . . . I can already tell what Sam'll say . . .

* * *

"Well! About time you stood up for yourself!" 

Yep, I knew it. The truth potion really does have its good points.


	11. FEED ME, DAMMIT!

**A/N:**_ Hey, sorry about the last chapter. I wanted Dany to stand up for himself, but in order to do so I kinda had to make him get mad, and when people get mad they tend to cuss. So sorry. However, it is most likely never gonna happen again, so don't worry. Anyway, Valerie finally shows up!_

**_Danny's POV:_**

I stretched in the booth at the Nasty Burger. "I hope I never, ever, ever have to go through that damned truth potion stuff again after this is all over."

"That's understandable." Sam shrugged. Once school had let out, we'd come here to hang out before I went home to be bombarded with a ghostly tazer and run away from my parents to the safety of my room. Which technically isn't all that safe, seeing as Dad got it into his head that we need ghost shields around our bedrooms and that he should turn them on at random . . . heh, I just remembered when Vlad tried to visit, Jazz turned the shields on . . . heh heh . . .

"Danny, that look on your face is scaring me . . . I think it's scaring Sam . . ." Tucker stared at me. I must have had my devilish grin on. I like that grin. It scares Tucker, it scares Sam, and most importantly . . . it scares Vlad, too.

"Right. Sorry." I grinned wider.

"No you aren't."

"You're right. I'm not." I laughed. "But there is something I am . . . and that's hungry. Be right back . . . with _food_." I stood up and sauntered over to the counter. Food food food food food food food food, lov-e-ly food . . .

"Hello, wecome to the Nasty Burger. What would you like?" a bored voice said from behind the counter. It sounded awful familiar . . . wait a second, what time is it? Don't tell me it's . . .

. . . Valerie's shift.

Dammit.

"Danny?! Hi . . ."

"Oh, uh, hey Val. Um, can I have a Nasty Burger and some fries with a Coke? I'm gonna faint of hungerrrrrr . . ."

"Nu-uh, not until we hang out for a bit." Val grinned at me and crossed her arms on the counter. "So, what's up?"

"The ceiling, the sky, space, et cetera et cetera." I blinked. "Val, I'm really, really, _really_ hungry . . ."

"You always are. C'mon, how's Tucker and Sam?"

"Val . . . . hunger . . ."

"Jazz still testing her psycho-analysis on ya? Bet that must stink, huh? I'd hate having her all over me, too."

"Val, I'm dead serious . . . more than you know. Your food is _calling_ me. Pleeeeeeeeease . . ."

"Nu-uh." She just grinned wider.

"Ugh . . ." I groaned, but then grinned evilly. Master plan forming. Initiate. "Hey, Val, you've been asking a lot of questions. Can I ask a few?"

"Sure."

"Can you look into your heart for me?"

"Why?"

"Just do it."

" . . . okay . . ."

"Are you looking?"

"Yep."

"Now, look deeper . . ."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"Deeper . . ."

"Uh-huh . . ."

"And deeper . . . you there yet?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now, look deep into that deep deep deep place . . ."

"Uh-huh . . ."

" . . . and see if there's a Nasty Burger there for me. Dammit, I'm HUNGRY!"

Val cracked up laughing. Laughing. _Laughing!_ I'm serious, woman! I'm really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really . . . insert huge intake of breath . . . really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, _really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, **really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, REALLY**_ hungry! I'm gonna starve here! It's not a laughing manner!

. . . I mean, matter . . .

"Hey, wait a second . . . huh."

Valerie started to look like that constipated-officer-dude-who-locked-me-up-in-jail-that-one-time. "What . . . hee hee . . . d'ya got now . . . hahaha Danny?"

"I just figured out the secret to life."

"Which, hehe, is . . ."

"Eat right, exersize . . . die anyway. But since I'm already half-dead, why should I bother? **_GIMME A BURGER ALREADY!!!_**"

" . . . . . . . hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

"Val, that's not helping the situation."

"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

"Vaaaaaaaal . . . I just want my fooooooooood . . . why dost thou make me wait-eth?! The burgers . . . they're calling me . . . they're screaming 'eat meeeee, eat meeeeee' . . ."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"THAT ISN'T HELPING MY SITUATION!!!!! FEED ME!"


	12. A Call for REEEEEVENGE!

**_Sam's POV:_**

"Danny, you really made a scene back there with Valerie." I hinted at my anger. Why was I so jeal-- no. I'm not _jealous_. No way am I _jealous_ of _Valerie_ and **_Danny_**!

What's there to be jealous of, anyway? I mean, aside from the . . . baby-blue eyes . . . perfectly messy black hair . . . sweet little grin . . . _nononononono_! Bad! Bad! Danny is my best friend! Meaning, he's _not_ open for dating! Sure, he could date Paulina . . . shallow little b that she is . . . no, he can't date Paulina. I won't let him. Whoa, possessive much . . . but Danny _is_ mine after a-- NO! Not mine. Not mine . . . not mine . . . not mine. He could, theoretically, date . . . Valerie . . . no. I won't let him date _her_ either. Not in a lifetime. Not in a million years. Not in a million lifetimes . . . no. If Danny's gonna date anyone, it's gona be m---- NO! NOO!

"Yep. But I don't carrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre . . ." Danny grinned cheesily, nuzzling his pile of Nasty Burgers wiht a dreamlike expression gracing his features. Not gracing. I wonder what would happen if he were be doing that to me instead, only shirtle----- bad thoughts, Sam! Bad thoughts! BAD THOUGHTS!!!

Although . . . . . .

No.

Nonononono.

We **aren't** going to go there.

"And Sam says I'm obsessed with Polly." Tucker scoffed.

"Polly?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's Polly?"

My techno-geek friend shoved something grey and very familiar into my face. "Polly, this is Sam, my best friend! Sam, meet Polly. Isn't she just the best-est, best-est, best-est?!"

" . . . Polly? You named your PDA _Polly_?!"

"Why? Somethin' wrong with it?"

Danny stopped cooing to his burgers long enough to raise his head and add his own two-cents. "I think she's more of a _Brittney_, if you ask me." This being said, he redirected his attention to his food, murmurring something along the lines of "Danny loves you, yes he does! Yes he does! He loves his little burger-babies, doesn't he? Danny loves you, yes he does!"

Shaking off now-scary images of Danny and his burgers, I sighed and grabbed his arm. "I still can believe you actually eat that greasy junk . . ." I told him as I dragged him out of the toxic waste dump masquerading as a fast-food resteraunt dubbed appropriately as the Nasty Burger. Tucker and the newly-christened Brittney followed suit.

"SAAAAAAAAM!" Danny wailed. "MY BURGER-BABIES! WE FORGOT MY BURGER-BABIES!"

"I think they can do without you for a little while, Danny."

"But-but-but-but-but-but-but-but . . ."

"Yes, we have established that that is your butt, Danny." Tucker ambled past. "I doubt you need Sam to agree with you on that one, but if you're still not sure I'm sure she won't mind double-checking for you."

"**TUCKER!!!!!!**"

" . . . yeah, I know when I should shut up. I just simply choose not to."

"**TUCKER BENJAMIN FOLEY!!!!! GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE**---" Danny and I chased Tucker down the street, screaming curses at the top of our lungs.

* * *

I don't think you'd enjoy a description of what we did to Tucker, so we'll let your imaginations run wild. Enjoy.

* * *

"Owww . . ." Tucker moaned. 

Danny and I ignored him.

"Owww . . ."

Danny laid down a card.

"Owww . . ."

I contemplated his choice, then laid down my own.

"_Owwwwwww!_"

"Oh, give it a rest, Tucker." I rolled my eyes as Danny laid down his hand, grinning at me victoriously. I smirked, then showed him mine. As he puzzled over how I'd beaten him, I swept the pile of odds-and-ends we'd been betting on towards me. Inspecting my wins, I unearthed . . . a sock?

"Danny . . . you bet one of your socks?"

"Not mine. Tucker's."

I cringed and flung said sock to the other side of the room.

The phone rang then, annoyingly so. As if on cue, Danny's parents (more specifically, his mom) shouted from downstairs "Danny dear! Can you get that for us?!"

"SURE!" Danny bellowed back. Right in my ear.

Never a quiet moment in the Fenton household, eh?

"Hello, Fenton household, Danny Fenton speaking. Jack and or Maddie Fenton can't come to the phone right now, but if you'd like to leave a messafe for them, I'd be glad to take it. If you have a message for my sister Jazz, she's not available right now either, but I will take a message for him as well. If you'd like to schedule an extortionism, that would qualify under a message for Jack and or Maddie Fenton. If you have information regarding a ghost, please include that in a message to Jack and or Maddie Fenton. If you wish to schedule a general appointment, I can set that up for you. How may we help you?"

"Whoa . . ." I whispered. I've heard him perform his family's wierd little monologue before, but it never ceased to amaze me that he and Jazz had _memorized_ all that. And the fact that Danny could do it in one breath . . .

"'Ello, is this a Daniel Fenton?" A cheesy Austrailian accent said clearly.

"Yessir."

"This is the Sydney Opera 'Ouse, mate. Do you happen to know a certain Dash Baxter?"

"Yessir . . ."

"Well, he's helped you get cast as the gay extra in the Phantom of the Opera! Aren't you so excited?! Anyway, your plane leaves in five minutes, mate! Better hurry down to the airport so you can come Down Unda as soon as possible!"

" . . ."

"Wow, you're already in character! See you so--"

"Sir, can I ask one question?" Danny was . . . smirking?!

"Um. Sure -- I mean, yessir."

" . . . did you really think you could pull off an Austrailian accent, Dash?" Danny grinned, then promptly hung up.

"What . . . was that all about?" Tucker blinked, having stopped his moaning just as the phone rang. He was attempting and failing to beat me in another game of cards, and I'd already won his other sock. Which had promptly joined its match across the room.

"Dash tried to prank-call me."

" . . . and you're still under that truth potion . . . ?" I asked, grin falling off my face.

"Yep." My grin was replaced on Danny's face. I never knew I could look so . . . devilish.

" . . . Tucker . . ."

"Yeah?"

" . . . I think now would be a good time to leave the country. I _really_ don't want to be here to see what Danny does to Dash . . ."

"Hey! I'm not that bad when I'm hellbent on exacting a cruicial and evil plan of revenge involving a wrench, feathers and a vaccuum!"

" . . . . . . . . . . . ." Well. That was oddly . . . specific.

" . . . what?"

" . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"I'm not that bad . . . right?"


	13. What's the Plural of Caboose?

**_Danny's POV:_**

I hummed brightly as I flew Sam, Tucker and meself in the vague direction of the movie theatre. Time to go see the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie . . . . Alvin, ol' buddy ol' pal, here I come! _Christmas Christmas time is near . . . time for toys, and time for cheer . . ._

"Danny?"

_Lalalala . . . um, forgot the words, we've been good, but we can't last . . ._

"**Danny.**"

_Hurry, Christmas, hurry fa--_

"_**DANNY!**_"

"What?" I pouted, Sam's yell having paused my warped continuation of the beloved carol. I forgot the song though when I noticed the apparent lack of weight on my back (see, Tucker's really heavy, so I can carry him below me when I fly like I can with Sam; he kinda has to hang on to my back and I hold Sam bridal-style). "Wow, Tuck sure got lighter all of a sudden . . . a LOT lighter!" I sang happily. Yay sudden weight loss!

"Oh, I dunno, maybe it's because he's _FALLING?!_" Sam bellowed in my ear. Thanks, Sammie . . . right after my eardrum finally healed . . .

Just to grate on her nerves (and becuase I kinda missed the last half of the sentence due to the thoughts of bleeding eardrums), I grinned as started to reply with "Oooh, sounds fun, I wanna tr --- **FALLING?!**" I looked down, and sure enough the poor techie was plumeting down. Wisely, however, he didn't scream (it would have freaked out the townsfolk and further imprinted the whole 'Public Enemy #1' in their minds . . . although I think he was too terrified to scream). "OH NO, MY CABOOSE!" I shouted the first thing that came into my mind.

"Your _whAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH_!"

. . . uh-oh.

Um . . . I've got good news and bad news. Which d'ya want first? Well too bad, 'cause you're gettin' the good news. Ahem.

Good news: I caught Tucker.

Bad news . . . now Sam's kinda free-falling.

"OH, NO!" I promptly shouted. "MY OTHER CABOOSE!"

New good news (heh heh, funny phrase). Caught Sam.

. . . bad news . . . dropped Tucker. Again.

"OH NO! MY FIRST CABOOSE AGAIN!"

And so on and so forth . . .

"OH NO! MY OTHER CABOOSE! AGAIN!"

"AW MAN! MY FIRST CABOOSE! STOP FALLING!"

"NOT THE OTHER CABOOSE AGAIN! DAMN IT!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" (all three of us yelled that one; amazingly, no citizens and or pedestrians and the like looked up)

Oh, my poor caboo - hey, what's the plural of 'caboose', anyway? It would really cut back on the waste of breath from yelling if I knew. Cabooses . . . caboosi . . . caboosen . . . OH! I got it! Okay. So, caboose sorta ryhmes with goose, right? Right. And the plural of goose is geese, right? Yep. Therefore . . .

. . . . . . cabeese!

And then my brain actually woke up and started actually using itself to talk to me.

Uh, HELLO?! Anyone home? I guess not, since you're NOT USING YOUR HEAD!!! My friends are free-falling, and I DO have _ghost powers_. Ghost powers that noty only include flight and all that other fun stuff like ice manipulation, but DUPLICATION . . . damn, I'm so slow sometimes . . . gimme a break, it's 2:00 in the afternoon! What teenager's brain works at 2:00 in the afternoon?! What teenager's even _awake_ at 2:00 in the afternoon?

. . . don't answer that.

Quickly making a duplicate. I ordered the fake me to catch Tucker. The real me flew down and caught the precious Sammiekins.

This genius plan actually worked . . . for a grand total of, oh, 30 seconds. Then, wouldn't you know it, my powers . . . shorted out.

Of course.

The three of us plummeted towards the ground . . .

THE END!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . heh, gotcha.

Anyway.

The three of us plummeted towards the ground . . .

. . . and landed on that place where all those matres factories get rid of all their extra matreses no one will buy.

Talk about sayin' 'WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE' . . .

"Daniel . . . Jackson . . . Fenton . . . slash . . . Phantom . . ." Sam laughed.

" . . . don't you ever . . ." Tucker began.

" . . . . . drop us again . . . . . ." Sam continued.

" . . . . . unless . . ."

" . . . . . . . it's over here." All three of us said that one at the same time, then followed it up with cracking up at the same time. Hehehe.

"Right. I promise . . . _Sammiekins_." I grinned, then jumped to my feet and ran (sorry, _bounced_) away. Sam followed, hot on my heels. Naturally, I did NOT hold back on my powers right now like I usually do in gym. Hey, you'd use everything you could get if SAM were chasing you, you know!

. . . okay, so I kinda provoked her a little . . .

. . . okay, okay! A lot! I provoked her a lot! Geez . . .

. . . who's side are you **on**, anyway?!


	14. Author's Note READ IT!

**A/N:**

_Hiya, everyone. Sorry for the lack of updates, hehe . . . but that's what I'm about to explain._

_I'm really, really, REALLY sorry to say this, but I need to put Truth Be Told on a temporary hiatus. These chapters _seriously_ need to be redone. Sure, it's funny, but there's absolutely no consistency in Danny's character, or in Sam's. There's _nothing_ that actually fits with the actual show, and it _completely_ ignores any existance of Danny's actual life. Truthfully, and in all honestly . . . __TBT isn't written very well _at all_. Plus, the biggest problem . . . . . . . . . . . _**there's no plot**_What exactly is this story without a plot? Random little drabbles about characters that can't make up thier minds of how they wanna act._

_Okay. Now for the solution(s)._

_Number one - TBT is hereby on a temporary hiatus. NO, it's NOT PERMANENT!!! All I have to do is rewrite the chapters._

_Number two - this is where you guys come in. I need you guys to brainstorm plot ideas. I need ideas, DESPERATELY. And, as you're the ones who actually read the story, who better to ask? The story will be what _you_ want to read, not random mumbo-jumbo I see fit to stick online._

_So there you have it. Those two solutions should get TBT back online as soon as possible - but this time, actually stick ideas in any form of communication. Last time I asked for ideas for the story, I only got one._

_See you as soon as possible._

_ - TziAki_


End file.
